


Twisted Time

by PhantomEngineer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eyeballs, F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomEngineer/pseuds/PhantomEngineer
Summary: Hermione reflects on how she ended up falling in love with Tom Riddle rather than killing him.





	Twisted Time

Hermione considered the bed. She knew that they could afford a better one now. The sensible, logical thing was undoubtedly to simply throw it out and buy something new for their new house, but she was sad enough to be leaving her pokey little flat even though it was really a bit too small. She wanted to take bed with her at least, and she knew that Tom felt the same. Held the same sentimentality towards it as her.

It had, for a long time, been the nicest piece of furniture she owned. She had bought it specifically with her and Tom in mind. It held memories that she wasn’t yet ready to discard, even if a new bed would just mean new memories to make. The new house needed some remnants of the old.

She could still remember the way he had been when she first invited him to stay the night. Trembling with nerves and eager to please, just like her he had done his research. Had read every book available to him and then some. Knew all the parts and their proper names, learnt from studying dry diagrams with the same passionate drive for knowledge that she had. So unromantically erotic in her mind. Warm, slow kisses that were full of spells few ever bothered to study. Touches and caresses of hidden knowledge. Uncertainty and inexperience warring with fierce study and ruthless determination.

The bed had been spread with clean sheets, neat and tidy as she liked it. A good impression even though Tom’s eyes had barely been able to leave her body, his cheeks flushed with excited embarrassment, both desperate and afraid to look at everything. To take it all in, laid out on a platter of white cotton.

A start.

She sat down on the bed, deciding that she needed a break from packing. She needed to reminisce a bit. To sit there, in the room that had seen so many beautiful memories, and just soak it in knowing that their next bedroom would see even more beautiful memories. The difference would be that their new house had a garden that spilled out into the open greenery of the countryside rather than thin walls separating her from the rustlings of her neighbours.

When she had been eighteen she had never expected to end up where she was now. When she had been eighteen she had been wholeheartedly fighting a war. She didn’t think about it much anymore, but now she was letting herself fall back through the years into the future that would never come.

She remembered the moment of realisation, when Voldemort had killed Harry. It had taken her a long time to forget seeing his eyeballs rolling along the muddy grounds as she backed away, ready to run but not yet sure where she was running to. She remembered Draco, who she’d barely known as anything other than an odious boy, grabbing her arm and pushing her away from the scene, away from what was left of Harry and Ron, hissing “Father has a time turner,” to her as though that could solve everything.

She hadn’t quite expected to crash into Lucius, to have him thrust a time turner in her hand with the hurried explanation that it would go back more than mere hours but the years needed to undo everything. She was too shocked to really question why they were helping her. She was too singleminded in her decision to put an end to Voldemort no matter the cost that she barely hesitated. She had wiped her parents’ memories of her and sent them away to keep them safe. There were no lengths she was not willing to go for the world that had never entirely accepted her as one of their own.

She’d gone back, years and years, landing deep in the past knowing that she’d never return but it didn’t matter because she had a purpose. She had barely given herself a moment to rest, using magic to guide her to a miserable orphanage and a boy who would become Voldemort. She had raised her wand, certain that she was able for the first and last time in her life to cast the Killing Curse. It was for the good of all to kill him long before he ever had a chance of harming anyone. 

And a young boy had gazed up at her and asked in pure wonder if she was a witch. Hermione had hesitated for a long long time, so long it could have led to the next ice age, but eventually she had thawed and her wand had fallen uselessly by her side. Murdering children was what Voldemort had done. Even if he was going to be Voldemort, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Cursing her weakness, she had smiled and said yes, had spoken with him even as it made her skin crawl to be in his presence, reassuring him that he was about to get his Hogwarts letter.

They’d exchanged owls regularly from then on, as Hermione had found herself in need of a job and a place to live. She’d found employment far beneath her abilities and the grim flat that she was now leaving. It hadn’t really mattered, as she was merely waiting. Monitoring. Watching Tom for the signs, so that she could step in and kill him even as she found that his letters of enthusiasm and intellect were the highlight of her life. For too long she had thought of nothing but war, so even as muggle Britain plunged headfirst into a war she had kept herself afloat with the brightness of magical theory. Magical theory she had never really had an opportunity to explore with such pure enthusiasm until then, awaiting each new owl with delight. 

Hermione had used all manner of spells to shield herself even as she grew to know muggles again as she huddled amongst them in the Anderson shelters as the bombs fell around them, shaking the ground and destroying everything in their paths. It had been different from her childhood in the muggle world, more like her late teens in the wizarding world, everything torn asunder and shattered into nothing, but it had mattered little to her. People died and she lived. She kept living, waiting, steeling her heart for the moment she cast the Killing Curse she was living for. Her reason, her purpose. Her whole life dedicated to Tom’s death. 

She had moved from one war to another, but she paid little real attention to the war around her. She didn’t worry herself about Grindelwald or Hitler, just the boy at Hogwarts who was going to be as bad as them only it was her responsibility to stop him. She had fought her own war and there had been no victory so she was back there, suffering in the chaos of a country in flames, to prevent it ever happening even if it changed the future, even if she wrote herself and her loved ones from history by chance manipulation of time lines. Nothing mattered but the greater good, the defeat of Voldemort before he could ever rise. 

She had hated herself constantly, for being unable to kill him in that first instance. For enjoying his intellect and charisma. For hanging around waiting, scouring each and every letter he sent her for hints of pureblood supremacy that idolised the Dark Arts and wished for muggleborns like herself to die. 

Only, there had been nothing of the sort. Just excited chattering about magical theory that Hermione had been drawn into without really being able to help herself. It had been a long time since she’d been able to stretch her mind in a purely academic manner, to discuss concepts and enjoy the discussion of theory. Every letter she received seemed to shine with a certain delight at the discovery that the intelligent woman he spilled all his wonder at Hogwarts to was just like him, raised in the muggle world with muggle parentage, and so to them the wizarding world and all the magic within was even more enchanting, something that captured their minds and hearts equally, giving no quarter and leaving them helpless in the face of its wonder. 

She’d still waited on tenterhooks, nervous as she knew the Chamber of Secrets would be opened eventually, leading to a death and Hagrid’s unfair expulsion. Knowing that she should intervene before that, that when it was opened she had to act. Had to kill Tom. It was for the best, no more than putting down a rabid dog. For the best of everyone, himself included. She couldn’t imagine that the bright, intelligent boy she knew would be happy knowing what he would become. Surely death was the kindest option?

And she waited and waited. And there was no such news, the Chamber remained closed and Tom remained a normal boy passionate about learning all there was to know about magic. A boy that Hermione had grown to enjoy interacting with even as she had kept steeling her heart against the knowledge that one day she would need to kill him for the greater good. Lay awake at night dreading the moment, when she had to do it. Had to end him. Had to finish what she travelled back in time to do. Performed her duty. Did the right thing. 

Until she had realised she never would, that by simply being his friend she’d managed to give him enough reason to never fall into the darkness he otherwise would have. That maybe, by existing as someone to share his thoughts with she had distracted him. That maybe, by being a muggleborn living in the muggle world she had given him enough proof that blood purity meant nothing, when his most fulfilling conversations were with her.

After that, it had been almost as natural as breathing to relax into admitting that she cared for him. It had taken longer for her to admit that she could love him, even as she had realised that he’d tentatively fallen in love with her. So she’d bought a bigger bed, one that would sleep two rather than one. 

She didn’t yet know what the future would hold, exactly. Once she’d ceased centring her whole life around preparing to murder a child she had been able to finally relax, been able to sit down and consider whether she wanted to try to have a career in the Ministry or research. She didn’t know what results Tom’s research into basilisks would produce, because she’d never lived in a future where Tom became a world renowned herpetologist rather than Lord Voldemort, but she was interested to see him put his unique ability as a parseltongue to good use. 

She didn’t know if the gentle ripples of her actions would lead to her never being born. She had let herself grieve for her parents, lost to a memory spell she would never need to cast, a distant relic of her past and future. She missed the friends she might never know again, separated from time and the uncertainty of the future. She didn’t know if Harry or Ron would still be born. She didn’t know if even if they were, whether they would be friends or not. She missed them, just as she missed her parents and everyone she had once known, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret anything. She was happy, even if it had taken her a long time to find it. And ultimately she had averted a war.

She glanced up, shaken from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps. Tom stood in the doorway, no longer the boy she’d intended to kill and a far cry from the monster who had tried to kill her, just a man who loved her as best he could. He smiled at her, at the half-packed boxes, and took a seat beside her. An arm that was gentle, had never performed the Killing Curse, wound its way around her shoulders. Lips that had never spoken the words _Avada Kedavara_ , had never incited genocide, kissed hers gently.


End file.
